Heart
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *From the kink meme request 'Nations adopting a human child'* Italy and South Italy gain something far more important than independence when they take in their house and hearts a young kid.
1. That kid…

**SOY:** there was this awesome prompt in the kink meme, Nations adopting a human child. I just had to tackle this. It's going to be a long fic, and there might or might not be Italicest hints. At the most, it'll simply be brotherly, though. Undecided yet…

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** historical setting, humans, mentions of past war, angst.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Heart**

**Chapter 01: that kid**

**1888 – february**

He was standing on the side of the road, face set into a frown that didn't look right on him, mistrustful eyes fixed on the road, watching people pass by without interest.

Italy had already seen him a few times, a little kid no older than five, standing still like a little man, face dirty, messy black hair, ripped pants and shirt, and without shoes; he was easy to ignore, so small and weak–looking, but Italy's eyes had travelled straight to his figure, as if attracted by… something.

He'd stopped to stare at him, surprised that a kid so young would be left all alone on the street; brown eyes checked around the road, then the shops… maybe he was waiting for his mother, or his friends…?

The moment the kid had noticed someone was staring, he'd grunted in his direction, chubby face scrunched up, and then promptly looked away, ignoring him.

Italy had felt a small pang in his chest, but he had not allowed himself to think about it, hurrying down the street, knowing that his brother was probably waiting for him at home, and that he would surely be pissed off.

Things were not going well for them, even after finalizing their unification, and there was barely any time to take care of themselves; at least, the worst was in the past, and now Romano wasn't as bitchy and angered with the world as he was before.

With his mind full of politics, depressed for the lack of time to spend painting and creating poems, the aftermath of the independence wars and the _brigantaggio_ (which had been, despite his denial, a civil war) still heavy on his mind, he didn't think about the kid anymore, more important matters coming up to his mind to be able to think about anything else.

A few days later, Italy left his house to buy groceries and passed on the main street once again, with a huge bag of fruits and other stuff in his arms; he kept glancing at the sky with a worried expression every few steps, afraid that it would start raining before he got back home, and when he looked back down, his eyes were attracted by the familiar figure, standing in the same spot as before, motionless.

Still shoeless, with the same dirty clothes as before, that expression that touched chords inside Italy that he didn't even know he had.

What was he doing there?

This time, Italy disregarded the weather and walked towards him.

"_Ehi, bambino_!" Italy kneeled at his side. "Is everything ok?"

Deep green eyes turned towards him, narrowed in suspicion.

"_Che vuoi_?" the kid answered, gruff and childish, and yet attempting to sound older, imposing.

"Ve, is everything ok? It's going to rain soon, shouldn't you go back home?" Italy hadn't meant to sound doting, but the kid looked so lost…

"Of course! I'm a big boy!" pointing a small thumb against his chest, the little kid rubbed a fist against his dirty cheek. "_You_ go back 'ome!"

Italy frowned in concern –it was so hard for him to smile, nowadays– but said nothing, and glancing at the boy for a moment more, he stood up and walked away.

Soon, rain started falling, and he rushed to get back home, running down the street and clutching the bag to his chest.

Still, his mind lingered on that kid, on his close, distrustful expression.

…–…–…–…

"_Buongiorno_, Mrs Ferri, how is your husband today?"

The busty, sturdy woman massaged her back and turned around, a fond smile appearing on her face as she recognised who was speaking to her; it was the Vargas boy, such a sweet, caring young man…

"Oh, _Buongiorno_ Feliciano," she greeted back, wiping her hands on her apron. "Renzo is fine, thank you… his back is slowly healing, God bless it" she sighed, gathering up the wet sheets she was cleaning and checking it. "And I told you to call me Amelia".

"Ve, I'm sorry, Mrs Amelia," he replied with a small, hesitant smile. "But I'm glad to know he's doing better!"

"Come on, young man, help me get those home and I'll give you some home–made cake," she smiled, holding out the basin filled with bed sheets to him.

Italy grabbed the basin and nodded, following the woman through the fountain square.

She would have been perfectly able to do it herself, of course, but dear Feliciano always looked like he could do with a piece of cake to eat, and it made her sad he didn't smile much, and a frown didn't look good on his sweet, gentle face.

For someone who so easily made friends with people, even those who at first looked stand–offish, the young Italian man surely needed to be more cheerful. He'd transferred in the town only a couple of years before with his older brother, a sour–looking young man, and everybody had greeted them with open arms.

It was easy to like them, after all.

As they passed through the town, Italy and the woman spoke a bit about various things –her son, who would come back home soon, Italy's brother, of course, and food– but once they turned the corner and got to the main street, Italy's attention went automatically to the opposite corner.

The kid was there once again, ignoring the crowd as much as the crowd avoided him.

"Mrs Amelia…"

She stopped her happy chatter and turned around, but the moment she noticed where Italy was looking, her face turned into a sad, pitiful gaze.

"Oh, so you've seen poor Enrico, hmm? Dear, dear…" she shook her head, tone dropping an octave lower. "He's the son of Luciano Foretti, _che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima_," she shared a knowing look with Italy, but his confused face stopped her. "You don't know? His father was reported missing in action. His mother, Anna, has…" with an eloquent twist of her wrist next to her head, Amelia peered at the kid, thin lips pulled into a grimace. "Our Parish Priest has tried twice already to offer some words of comfort to her, but she refuses to listen… she doesn't even come to mass anymore, and the kid is left to fend off for himself".

She looked terribly upset at her own words –there was no way a good soul could refuse to have others help them, after all… it surely meant that she didn't need salvation, and despite Amelia's belief that God could save everybody, He couldn't reach into unwilling hearts.

Enrico's mother refused help, and the kid was already a lost cause, not giving respect to adults and running away from home…

Italy's eyes narrowed at her words, worried gaze returning to the kid once more. "Why is he standing there?"

"He's probably waiting for his father to come back" she sighed, quickening her pace. "Let's go, Feliciano".

Italy's eyes couldn't look away, even as the woman tugged him towards her house, filling his mind with happy chatter; as he finally turned around, he felt on his skin, like a ripple, little Enrico's eyes staring at him from the other end of the street.

…–…–…–…

"Enrico?"

With a startle, the kid glared upwards, blue eyes widening as soon as he stared at the offered piece of cake; Italy looked at him expectantly, knowing that no kid could refuse the allure of a sweet.

"You 'gain?" despite his pout, Enrico's eyes were fixed on the cake, little hands closing into fists. "Wha' ya want? Wha's your name anyway?"

Italy looked sheepish for a moment. "I'm Feliciano!" he smiled a bit, fidgeting. "I thought I could share, the cake Mrs Amelia gave me is too much for me alone, you know".

Sitting down on the street at the kid's side, Italy brought his own slice of cake to his mouth, biting down on it.

The kid's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Italy didn't move, still munching slowly, relishing in the taste –that woman's cake really was good, after all– and after some long, stretched out seconds, one of Enrico's little hands moved forwards, wrapping around one corner of the cake and bringing it close to his chest, almost protectively.

"Aren't you going to eat that, ve?" Italy peered at him, taking another bite. "Now that I think of it, I wouldn't mind that other piece, too…"

Hurriedly pushing as much of the cake into his mouth as he could, making Italy inwardly wince at his dirty hands and where they surely had been, Enrico munched on it, curling protectively on his sweet, ready to defend it.

Italy hummed in satisfaction, looking at the street.

That particular spot was good, he could see most of the square, and the street going out of town until the first corner… obviously the perfect place to be waiting for someone.

"Ve~ Isn't your mom worried that you stay all day here? Shouldn't you go to school?"

"I'm a big boy!" the kid repeated, still pouting, mouth full of cake. "And mom doesn't care," he muttered then, rubbing at his cheek.

"I am sure she does, Enrico!"

"No, she doesn't. She cries and cries for dad to come back," he replied sullenly. "And nobody cares at all. Why should you?" he grumbled out, licking his sticky fingers.

Italy felt a pang of sadness at his words; in a time where the people of the town should have been trying to help Enrico's mom out of her pain, they were retreating, simply because she was grieving away from the Church, closing up on her pain.

What about the poor boy, then? All Italy could see was a kid desperately missing his dad.

He leaned forward, pushing the fingers away from Enrico's mouth and taking out one of his handkerchiefs to wipe them clean. "Here, let me do it…"

Enrico tried to pull away, but Italy held him still until he was finished. By then, his creamy handkerchief was filled with black and brown spots.

"You dirtied your 'kerchief," the kid pouted, but could say nothing more because then Italy moved down to clean his cheeks as well. "Hey! Let go! 'm not that dirty!"

"Ve~ look, you're much cuter now that there is nothing on your face!" Italy smiled a bit, patting Enrico on the head and pushing the dirty handkerchief into his pocket.

At the small blush he received from the kid, his smile turned a bit less sad.

"Come on, let me walk you home, little boy," Italy stood up, offering the kid his hand to grab.

Enrico shook his head wildly, taking a step back. "No! _Io aspetto il mio babbo_!"

Wincing slightly at his words, Italy sighed. "Mrs Amelia said your dad is…"

"He's not dead!" he spoke so vehemently, eyes wide and filled with certainty, that Italy couldn't reply, looking away. "I'm waitin' for him and he'll be back to me! And mom will be happy again!"

"You can… you can wait for him at home. Why here?" Italy tried again, fidgeting.

"Dad will come here first, and I will be the one taking 'im home to mom!" he sniffled, and much to Italy's horror, there were tears welling up in his eyes. "And dad will see that I was a good boy! Because I waited for him so much!"

He started crying, sobs wracking his little frame, and Italy panicked, not knowing what to do; waves of pain and despair were washing over him, coming from the clear sadness of the boy, who had lost his dad so early in life.

Gently, Italy rubbed Enrico's head, remembering what Hungary had done to him back then –holding him close and murmuring reassuring words into his ears until he fell into a restless sleep– and without hesitation he pulled the smaller frame into his arms.

"W–What if dad comes and he doesn't see me here?" he wailed, snuggling more into Italy's embrace.

"Ve… don't worry, don't worry. You're a strong little boy, Enrico… your dad would be proud of you…" little fists clenched his shirt, and Italy held him tighter. "Your mom also needs you now, though…"

"M–mom doesn't want me around… she cries a–all day and yells at me, a…"

"Your mom loves you for sure, but is very alone, too… you're the man of the house now, Enrico" Italy continued holding him close, rubbing his hair soothingly "but your dad would be very proud of you if you helped your mom…"

Enrico straightened his back in surprise, tears still rolling down his cheeks as he looked up at the Nation in shock. "Ah?"

"Your dad isn't there to take care of your mom, so you should be a big boy and do it yourself," Italy continued, nodding his certainty and letting Enrico go. "She's at your house, all alone, and she hurts so much, just like you are… isn't it better to be there for her?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Enrico pulled away from the comforting hug, little face scrunching up in thought. Then, he nodded wordlessly, wiping away the tears and sniffling, innocent eyes staring up at Italy in surprise.

"M–mom needs me," he murmured, eyes wide in wonder.

Italy nodded, taking out his handkerchief and offering it to the kid. "Come on, Enrico, I'll walk you home then?"

Enrico grabbed the offered handkerchief and smiled –he had one tooth missing from his front row, now that Italy noticed– nodding almost shyly.

Taking that small hand into his own and smiling sincerely, Italy allowed the kid to direct him to his house.

…–…–…–…

"M–mom! I'm back!"

Enrico pushed the door open wide and ran inside, motioning for Italy to come in.

The Italian Nation hesitantly walked in as well, looking around. The house at first look was quite poor, the floors dirty and the walls looking old and frail, but it was not the worst Italy had seen.

For a moment, it looked like Enrico would make him stop there, flushed cheeks signalling his shame for his state of poverty, but Italy smiled at him, murmuring something about the house that soothed the kid's worries.

"Mom will offer you coffee," he stated, reassured and clearly in control of the situation. "You can sit here" he motioned for the old couch, and Italy nodded, doing as he was told, humming softly. "Mom? Mom, we have _un ospite_!"

Italy looked around as Enrico left the main room to get to the bedroom; the furniture was old and wooden–made, and there were next to none paintings on the walls, except a huge, hand–made painting of flowers, clearly ruined and old, standing on the wall across the room.

The house didn't look like it was being taken care of, either. Italy's heart clenched a bit.

From the other room, Enrico's calls were suddenly replaced with a loud wail, and Italy sprung to his feet, hurrying to the bedroom without taking time to think.

Enrico was in a corner of the room (there was a double bed, a small cradle on one side, and a smaller bed next to it, making it hard to move around, especially with the giant cupboard so close to the door), holding up a baby not older than two in his arms, looking confused.

Italy blinked in surprise. Mrs Amelia didn't mention the presence of another kid at all. "Who is this… Ve~ Enrico, where is your mom?"

"Mom wouldn't let Maria all alone at home…" there were tears threatening to fall again, mirroring his little sister bawling her eyes out in his arms, but he managed not to cry. "Where is my mom?"

Italy manoeuvred around the bed to take the baby into his arms, and Maria's eyes opened wide in shock, staring at him and stopping to cry instantly; gently, he hummed an old melody, keeping his voice low, and she relaxed, eyes drooping softly.

The bed's springs gave up when Italy sat down on the bed, holding Maria in his arms, and he stared down at the baby in wonder. He knew she felt _something_ coming from him –all his people had a connection to him, though not many were aware of that– and he was glad she had calmed down so readily, as he didn't really know what to do with a baby so young.

Other than the bedroom and the main room serving both as a kitchen and as sitting room, there was just a small door connecting the bedroom with the bathroom, and it was clearly empty as well.

"Mom!" Enrico ran out of the bedroom, still close to tears. "Mom! Where are you!"

Italy gently pushed the cupboard's doors open with a foot, Maria still snuggling into his chest, and frowned when he noticed there were no clothes inside.

Checking for shoes gave him the same result, not even a smaller pair belonging to Enrico, and even in the cradle there was nothing left except a baby bottle and a small blue rattle.

The room was bare, and Italy suddenly felt cold inside.

No clothes. No shoes. No sign that the woman had been there in the first place, other than for her two kids…

The mental image of Mrs Amelia, the way she had shaken her head when talking about Enrico's mom… Italy gritted his teeth, breathing deeply to calm down, aware that Maria was wriggling in his lap, feeling his discontent.

Slowly, hesitantly, he spread his senses, trying to find the missing woman, but in vain. He couldn't feel her.

"Enrico! Come here, please".

The kid stopped his running around and moved closer to Italy, staring up at him with wide, expectant eyes. Italy gulped down his uneasiness. Brother was _not_ going to be happy.

"Enrico, I don't know where your mom is, but…" he wondered whether to tell the truth to the kid or not, and decided to let the matter rest for a bit. "Maybe she got called away for a bit…" he tried to keep his voice light, not to make Enrico feel that something was wrong.

"M–mom wouldn't let Maria here! She's too little!" he whined, holding one hand up to caress his sister's bare leg.

"Why don't you two come over to my house?" Italy offered tentatively. "I'm sure your mom wouldn't want you to stay home alone, right?" he held on Maria's body, the little girl snuggling closer with a soft gurgle. "She needs to be changed, and maybe she's hungry, right? You're her older brother, and if your mom is not here, at least take care of Maria".

After a moment of hesitation, Enrico nodded, running to the cradle to take her rattle.

"Will mom know where to find us when she's back?" he asked, getting back at Italy's side.

"I'll come back here later and I will write her a message," he replied, standing up and holding out his hand for Enrico to take. "Now let's go, I think you need to have a bath…"

"Wha? Nuu–uuh! Bath is icky!"

Italy didn't glance back as they left the house.

He had already decided what to do, in the end.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** first chapter is done. What do you think? Please review!

_Brigantaggio_ – It was basically a sort of civil war, a social and political insurrection developed during the Unification and in the first decade afterwards (1861–1869), repressed in painfully cruel ways, which was a pathetic attempt to hide the frail situation of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy to the rest of Europe. The problems caused by this continued for a few more decades, though, up to when Rome was annexed and became the new Capital (1870/1871).

_Ehi bambino_ – hey, kid

_Che vuoi_ – what do you want?

_Buongiorno _– good morning

_Che Dio abbia pietà della sua anima_ – may God have mercy of his soul

_Io aspetto il mio babbo_ – I'm waiting for my dad

_Un ospite_ – a guest.


	2. Insecurity

**SOY:** thank you for your kind reviews, everybody! There's a second chapter for you. Please enjoy!

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**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** historical setting, humans, mentions of past war, angst.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Heart**

**Chapter 02: insecurity**

"Whoa! Your house is bi~g!" Enrico stared up in wonder at the building, dropping Italy's hand in surprise.

"Uh, no, not really," Italy squirmed, and in his arms, Maria let out a small sound of distress. "It's just… my grandfather lived here, long ago, and this is one of his houses, ve~"

Which wasn't exactly the truth, but that was still fine. He was the one who had been living there a few decades before, but of course he couldn't say that to the little kid, right?

"Ve~ Enrico, let's go in now…"

The kid nodded wordlessly and taking hold of Italy's hand again, he allowed himself to be pulled inside; once the giant, oaky door closed behind his back, though, he let go again and moved around hesitantly, taking a few steps forwards, then stopping to look at a giant painting close to the entrance.

"Oooh! It's so big! Feliciano, _signore_, who is the man in the painting?"

"Ve~ don't call me mister! It makes me feel old…"

"Aren't you old, though?"

"I–I am not! I'm just… uhm… nineteen," yes, that would be it. He should be around that age by appearance, after all. "And that person in the painting is…"

But the kid had already moved forwards to stare at a small bust, eyes wide.

Italy shook his head, still vaguely amused at the kid, and when Maria nudged at him with her little hand, he straightened up.

"I'm going to change Maria now, can you please… uh, not touch anything, Enrico?"

Stopping mid–step, the boy turned around, eyes serious "yes sir," he nodded.

Italy moved up the giant stairway, trying to think if they had any clean cloths he could use on the little baby; she looked a bit dirty, too, but not malnourished. That was a huge relief, at least it looked the mother had been attentive to a point.

"Let's give you a bath, hmm?" Maria let out a happy gurgle, grabbing one of Italy's fingers in her small hand. "I guess that's a yes?"

Washing a baby so small turned out to be a bit of a challenge –she was quiet and only splashed the water a bit, but Italy had never tried anything like that before, and kept checking the temperature of the water every few minutes.

Maria seemed to enjoy when Italy rubbed at her scalp gently, and she also didn't seem to mind being cleansed with soap, eyes growing wide every time Italy managed to make a bubble with it, smiling and waving her chubby arms around.

As he finally brought her into a huge, fluffy towel, drying her with as much care as he could muster, Italy finally started to wonder where Romano was.

He hadn't been there when he got home, so that meant he either went to Spain because he was bored, or he went to check the fields outside of the town. As it was, Italy wasn't sure what his reaction to the two kids would be, but he hoped he would not yell. Surely, if he knew of what had happened, he wouldn't…

A loud crash interrupted his thoughts and Italy let out a soft gasp, gathering Maria and the towel in his arms and leaving the bathroom in a hurry.

What had caused the noise quickly became clear as he saw Enrico standing in front of a broken vase at the end of the stairs, eyes filled with tears of shame.

With a wince, Italy realised the vase now scattered everywhere on the floor was one he'd done a couple of decades before; still, his attention turned completely on the kid now sobbing pitifully, standing still and clutching at the rail of the stairs, and hurried down to him.

"Enrico, what happened?"

As a reply, Enrico started crying harder, muffled pleas and apologies muffled between his sobs and chocked attempts at explaining.

Italy shook his head, kneeling next to Enrico and carefully holding Maria with one arm as he slowly held the crying kid against his chest.

"Shhh… there's no need to cry… it was just a vase, don't worry," he murmured.

Enrico's little fists were once again clutching his shirt, and when a pair of big, watery eyes stared up at him, Italy felt any anger he might have felt vanish like snow under the sun.

"S–sorry… I… I…"

"I said it was just a vase… I'll teach you how to make a new vase, and we'll replace this one, ok? It wasn't that good either, after all" Italy stated, making note to exaggerate his nodding and his determined expression.

Enrico blinked, wiping his tears away. "R–Really? Y–you're not angry even w–when you said not to touch anything?"

"It happens," Italy sighed. He knew how that was, he'd been the one to break a lot of things in Austria and France's houses, after all. "Come on, Enrico, can you hold on your sister for a moment? We can't let all those shards on the floor, or you'll get hurt if you step on them".

Still sniffling, Enrico gathered little Maria in his arms and held her close, attempting to make up for his previous mistake by making himself look small and meek.

Italy carefully avoided all the shards on the floor and went to get a broom. Sweeping only took him a few moments, the familiar motions allowing him to think up what to do next, and after throwing away all the shared, he returned to Enrico, holding up Maria from his hold and into his own arms.

"You'll have to get punished for breaking a vase, though," Italy stated, trying to look serious. At Enrico's frightened expression, he simply smiled. "You'll have to take a bath and wash yourself really well, especially behind your ears".

The kid blinked up at him in surprise, then finally his lips trembled into a small smile. "Yes sir… I mean, yes, Feliciano".

"Now, let's go dress this little angel here, and I'll prepare you a bath".

With Enrico splashing around in the bathtub filled with bubbles and little Maria wrapped in one of Italy's old clothes (it was a shock to look at that small white dress and think he'd been wearing it only a few centuries before), the Italian Nation decided to go down and prepare something to eat for the two kids and for his brother, when he decided to come back home.

At first hesitant on where to put Maria, afraid that she would roll away or manage to crawl somewhere and get hurt, Italy finally solved the problem by grabbing a huge basket and filling it with white cloth and wool, placing Maria and her small rattle into it.

Maria gurgled in surprise, waving her small arms around and patting the wool awkwardly, then she threw her head back and giggled happily, shaking her rattle in the air.

Italy stared at her for a while, entranced by her cuteness, then he turned around and stared at the ingredients he had, wondering what he could prepare that would be enough for two grown people, a kid and a small baby.

He wasn't sure if at that age Maria was already up to eating anything solid –he'd noticed she had teeth, but what if she was still mostly milk fed?– so he decided he would make a vegetable soup.

Throwing glances at the baby once in a while to make sure she was enough entertained by her rattle and the wool to get out of the basket, Italy quickly cut a potato, a carrot and an onion and started preparing dinner.

From upstairs, if he concentrated enough, he could hear Enrico still splashing in the tub.

After seeing the amount of bubbles Italy had put in the water, the kid had determined that maybe a bath wasn't that bad, besides he still felt guilty for the broken vase, so he put extra attention on cleaning himself, splashing water around and playing with the soap.

Italy started humming in happiness, feeling somehow satisfied without really knowing why.

Behind him, little Maria curled more into the wool and giggled, biting on her rattle.

…–…–…–…

Romano grunted unhappily as he pushed the front door open.

He had a bad day, with rain that caught him halfway to the house, and not having an umbrella, nor the will to stop and wait for the rain to pass, he'd been forced to stand against the forces of high up.

The result was, he was completely wet and grouchy, and he wanted nothing more than something yummy and hot to eat and then drop off to bed.

As he slammed the door close behind his back, a whiff of delicious scent filled his nostrils, causing his mouth to water up. As it seemed, Italy had prepared soup. The idea of a plate of his brother's vegetable soup made his stomach act up, growling.

"I'm back," he called out, stretching his back and cracking the bones of his arms. "It's been a horrible day all over, first with fucking Antonio popping around whilst I was checking the fields, then with the rain, and–"

He stopped speaking when he entered the kitchen and found his brother waiting for him, sitting at the dining table, with two other 'guests' at his sides.

Romano blinked once, then another time as he tried to make sure he was not imagining things; a pair of big, green eyes were looking at him in confusion and suspicion from Italy's right, and another pair of eyes were glancing at him in wonder.

"Feli…? Who…"

Italy's awareness hit him straight on the chest like a warm blanket, and Romano suddenly felt a little less grouchy. Standing up, Italy gently patted the kid at his right, a calming gesture, then moved towards him. Romano didn't move when Italy hugged him as usual, kissing him on both cheeks.

He didn't like when his brother tried to mellow him down, damn it.

"Welcome home, Lovi~"

"T–thanks," he muttered, flushed red and still staring at the two kids at the table.

The little girl blinked and lifted one chubby arm, her hand opening and closing into a fist a few times, almost as if also greeting him, and the sight made him inwardly melt.

"Feli, who are–"

"Enrico, can you check on Maria for me, please?" Italy turned around, sneaking one hand into Romano's, soothing him, almost pleading him not to say anything now. "I need to speak with my brother for a moment, then we'll eat dinner together".

At the mention of the dinner Romano's stomach growled loudly, but he allowed his younger sibling to push him out of the kitchen and back into the sitting room.

It was there that Romano exploded.

"Who are those two?" grabbing Italy's shoulders and shaking him a bit, South Italy threw a pointed look at the kitchen door. "Why are there two _kids_ in our kitchen? What the hell did you do today?"

"Their mom is gone," Italy replied, cowering a bit at Romano's anger. "I couldn't… they were alone. Unattended, hungry, and Maria needed to be changed–"

"Maria?"

"The little girl. The boy's name is Enrico" Italy replied, trying to push Romano away from him. "I brought them home, what else?"

"We have no time for these things, Feli! Are you mad? Taking…" his tone lowered suddenly, "taking humans in our house… kids, even! What were you thinking?"

"They were alone and hungry," Italy replied, stressing the words accurately. He was starting to get angered at Romano. "Should I have let them alone? To die?"

"You don't bring home any of those vagabonds and poor men you see in the streets, nor do you see me bringing homeless people here!" sneering, Romano turned his back to his brother, feeling a cheater for his mean words.

Italy always gave something to every poor man he saw on the street, no matter the situation or his own wealth at the moment. That was how he was. Romano himself couldn't but do the same, because if he ignored them, the guilt plagued him for days afterwards. And yet… and yet, that didn't mean either had ever brought anybody home before.

"You do plan on taking them both to _their_ home after dinner, right?" he demanded to know, eyes narrowing in anger.

"I…"

Spinning around again, South Italy grabbed his brother by his shirt. "We can't take care of a couple of human babies! What do you think you are?"

"Their Nation," Italy replied quietly, shaking his head. "If they are rejected by their own Nation, who will ever welcome them?"

Taken aback by Italy's words, Romano shook his head.

"We can't, Feli. Don't forget we came to this town to unwind until the last government problems are settled and we can go back to serve our King," with a sigh, South Italy leaned against the wall, still staring at his brother. "We can't help those kids, too."

"It's not like we're doing anything either way!" eyes filled with anger, Italy started pacing in the sitting room, mindful of keeping his voice low. "You didn't see that poor boy, waiting for his dead father every day… and the mother… she's gone, Lovi. I can't feel her. She's not…"

"Why must you always think of the worst situation possible?" Romano grunted. "We're not used to our current borders. We can barely work as it is. She could just be where you can't reach her, Feliciano. Stop trying to put everybody's pain on your shoulders, damn it!"

"I don't think she's coming back, Lovi. She's not coming back anymore… she is their mom, yet she left them without planning on coming back…"

Feeling the shift in Italy's tone, Romano was up and away from the wall in a split second, one of his arms curling protectively around his brother's head, pulling him against his chest. "No. Don't think about that. Don't, do you hear me?" cursing under his breath, Romano settled his glare against the closed door.

He hated when Italy remembered _him_.

Italy felt tears well up in his eyes, but nodded into his brother's chest, trying to concentrate his attention on the kids instead than on the void in his chest that threatened to eat him. This was about them, not about him.

"I…" shuffling a bit, Romano pulled away from the hug, looking to the side. "They can sleep here tonight, but I want you to go to the church tomorrow and ask them to take the kids in. if they don't, go to Milano's orphanage and bring them with you."

"Lovi–"

"But I don't want to have anything to do with them, do you understand?" green eyes darkened abruptly. "To me, they don't exist. We can't take care of them, and you'd better not let them any closer than they are already".

'_It is hard already like this, can't you understand? Why do you want to make things complicated when we're just learning to get along, stupid Feliciano?'_

Italy felt a small trickle of warmth come from his brother, and tilted his head upwards, smiling at Romano; he was glad his brother was here and cared for him, but he couldn't understand why Romano was being difficult –this was _important_ to Italy.

The two kids…

It was true that he could not help all the people he met every day that were suffering, all the poor families that had suffered during the war, all the Italians dead for this independence…

But he couldn't let those two kids go. He had to help them.

And yet, he knew Romano was right. They could not do it themselves. And he couldn't do it alone, if his brother didn't want to help.

"Thank you, Lovi," he murmured, pressing his forehead against that of his brother. "Let's go eat now, or the soup will get cold".

…–…–…–…

"Ah, _Signor_ Feliciano…" Enrico wriggled into the make–shift pyjama he had been forced to wear by Italy, scrunching up his nose at how long the sleeves were. "Are you sure it's ok for us to sleep here?"

"Ve~, it's late already, right?" Italy chuckled a bit, helping the kid rolling up his sleeves. "there you go… sleep well, we're going to the church tomorrow morning, then we'll go back at your house to see if your mom is there".

"Church? Why! That's boring, and mom stopped going there! She says they can't help her and–"

A finger was placed on his lips. "She's just a bit confused and hurt, and she misses your father a lot, and she can't grasp at her faith anymore, but that does not mean they can't help you, either".

"But church is boring for real! It makes me fall asleep, and the way everybody sings, and mom…"

Italy chuckled, lifting the covers of the bed and pushing Enrico down, sitting at his side on the mattress.

"When I was little, I liked going to church, even before I could understand what it was about, actually…" he thought about it a bit, mindful of Enrico's eyes fixed on him. "I liked the way people would group together to sing, and I liked their voices raising and falling together. They were like a lullaby to me. And then, I liked the huge coloured glasses. So big and shiny, they made me want to paint all day".

"You paint?" Enrico blinked and yawned, curling more into the bed.

"Yes. Now a bit less, I guess. There's so much to do lately…" a mournful expression flickered on Italy's face, but he banished his desire away before it could take root. "But what I like the most is the church itself. It feels powerful, and old, and it's like a warm blanket wrapped all around me…"

"Does this make you feel better when you're down? 'cause mom never felt good".

"It does, but not in the sense others would, I think," Italy looked down to his hands, thinking about churches and songs, but most of all thinking back when his grandfather and his own religions had been everything he knew. "You should give it a try, but nobody will be angry at you if you still don't like it" he added after a small pause.

That wasn't quite right, of course, but Italy didn't want little Enrico to know that. There would be time to address such things.

He watched in silence as the kid clumsily intertwined his fingers together, peering up at him with an embarrassed look.

Italy didn't know what the kid was thinking, and simply waited.

"'s strange," Enrico muttered after a while, renouncing and curling under the covers again. "And I don't know any prayer" he confessed after a small pause.

"If you want, tomorrow I can teach you one," Italy smiled. "For now, you should just lay down and rest".

With a nod, Enrico turned around and shuffled for a bit. Italy smiled and patted him on the head, standing up and moving towards the door. "_Buonanotte_, Enrico. _Sogni d'oro_!"

"_Signor_ Feliciano?"

Italy stopped and turned around, almost ready to shut the lights off. "Yes?"

Enrico's face scrunched up in embarrassment, cheeks turning red. "Can you… can you tell me a tale please?"

For a moment, Italy stood still, surprised at the unexpected request. Enrico had always commented on how mature he was, that he was a big boy… and yet, now he'd requested a story to fall asleep. After all, he was just a little boy, away from his house and scared, and yet far too trusting of Italy.

Had not been Italy the one picking him up, would Enrico be so open towards others? Italy knew it was his status as their Nation that made his humans friendly with him.

He didn't like to think like that, though.

"Sure! I know a lot of stories," going back to the bed, Italy wriggled up on it, smiling brightly. "Ah! I know, I know, ve~ I'll tell you the tale of _Cappuccetto Rosso_!"

"Eeeh? Isn't that a kiddie's tale?"

"There's a giant, bad wolf and a scary hunter, though" Italy winked at Enrico.

"Oh! Then I want to hear it! I mean, _per favore_…"

With a soft smile, Italy waved his arms around, starting his tale. "There was, once, a little girl…"

Outside of the bedroom, Romano scoffed, his back against the wall. Yet he didn't move either, listening to his brother's voice in silence.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** so, another chapter is finished. Please do tell me what you think?

_Signor_ – mister

_Buonanotte_ – good night

_Sogni d'oro_ – have nice dreams (lit: "have golden dreams")

_Cappuccetto Rosso_ – Little Red riding hood

_Per favore_ – please


	3. Alone

**SOY:** I have to thank all of you, readers for the nice reviews! It makes me happy you've been following me with this fic!

Btw, I usually don't like to pimp my own fics out, but if you like Austria/Italy, I'm posting one in this period, so if you want to check it out, I promise you won't regret it ^^;

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** historical setting, humans, mentions of past war, angst.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Heart**

**Chapter 03: alone**

Enrico resurfaced from his deep sleep to the sound of chirping birds.

At first, he didn't know where he was, and curled more into the warmth of his blanket, then he finally opened his eyes, realising that the mattress felt different than usual; the room was in fact not his own, and the bed was much more comfortable than anything he'd ever slept in before, either.

For a short moment, he looked towards the door, expecting his mom to walk through it with Maria in her arms, but quickly shook his head, remembering that he was staying at that strange person called Feliciano's house, and that he'd been given a yummy dinner and a bath.

The guy looked silly to Enrico's eyes, but overall nice, and it was good to be in the centre of someone's attention, once in a while, and not because you stole something at the fruit stand out of hunger.

With a sigh, Enrico pushed the thoughts away –he knew _signor_ Feliciano would bring him back to his mom after church, and he missed his mom more than he liked the attention.

Sliding out of the bed, Enrico shuddered at the cold floor under his feet and moved to get dressed. His clothes suddenly felt uncomfortable now that he was all clean, and he refused to glance at the wall mirror, ashamed of how dirty and ruined they looked.

Pushing on his shoes, he finally left the bedroom and glanced around the corridor.

From the stairs, a whiff of a delicious smell reached him, and he quickly made his way down, attracted by the yummy smell, stopping in front of the kitchen door and peering inside.

There was _signor_ Feliciano's brother at the stove, and he was stirring something in the pot with a glare. Enrico wasn't sure what he thought of this man yet, because during the whole dinner he had basically ignored him and even Maria, who had tried to reach out towards him a couple of times, smiling and splotching her soup around.

_Signor_ Feliciano wasn't anywhere in the room, so the young boy, not knowing what to do or if it was ok to enter the kitchen, tiptoed back to the bedroom, ignoring how his stomach started growling at the delicious smell.

It was still early in the morning, and since he was curious about his surroundings, he decided to take a look around the room he'd been allowed to sleep into.

There were a lot of books, but he didn't really know how to read, so he simply fingered the rough surface of their covers, moving close to sniff at them; some were really old looking, and had a distinct smell of ancient.

It was clear _signor_ Feliciano and his brother read a lot, and Enrico scrunched up his nose in wonder, surprised.

There were also a lot of things piled up in a corner –paintings and unfinished canvas, and Enrico hesitated before touching them, fingers tracing the contours of the brush strokes, admiring the colours and the realism of the subjects.

One was that of a huge tower leaning to the side, and one was that of a street submerged in water, and there was another painting of an unfinished, round building.

Enrico, though amazed at the paintings and curious about the places depicted on the canvas, quickly grew bored of them and pushed them back against the wall, checking around the room for something more entertaining.

He was about to peer inside the giant armoire when the door cracked open and Italy appeared, smiling at him.

"_Buongiorno_, Enrico~"

"Ah! B–_buongiorno_, _signor_ Feliciano!"

"I told you not to call me mister already, though," Italy entered the room with a pout, and Enrico saw Maria gurgling into his arms.

Moving closer to his little sister, he took her small hand into his own and squeezed it gently. She giggled at him, face scrunched up in a smile.

"You'd better come down for _colazione_, Enrico~" the older Italian stated in a carefree voice. "Then we're going to go to church".

With a happy nod at the thought of the food, the kid grabbed Italy's offered hand and they moved back downstairs.

When they entered the kitchen, Romano turned around from the stove and glared at Italy, completely disregarding both Enrico and little Maria, despite the girl's attempts at attracting his attention once again, waving her arms at him.

"B–_buongiorno, signore_," trying to make himself small, Enrico shifted on the nearest chair, accepting with a smile a huge cup of milk and coffee and a fragrant slice of sweetened bread to eat.

Romano grunted at him, but when Italy elbowed him, he huffed out a greeting and returned to the stove.

"Why can't you just come back here and finish cooking your polenta, damn you!" he muttered under his breath, clearly in a bad mood. "Is the salt enough?"

Italy poured himself a cup of coffee and moved to taste the polenta, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it is. We'll have that and mashed potatoes for lunch, ve~"

Scoffing, Romano continued to stir the pot, still grumbling under his breath, and Italy sighed.

The sight brought a little bit of sadness to Enrico's heart.

"Mom used to cook every day when dad was home," he stated, gulping down a piece of bread. "When he comes back, she'll surely start cooking again".

Italy froze, cup of coffee halfway to his lips, and even Romano stopped his stirring, fingers tightening their hold on the spoon; with a cough, the younger of the two brothers moved towards Enrico and carefully cleaned his chin with a napkin.

"We should get ready for mass, ve~" he smiled, lips stretching upwards, coffee forgotten on the table. "Drink up your milk, please".

With an eager nod, Enrico finished his meal and bounced up from his seat, ready to leave.

Romano was the first to leave, refusing to walk through the town in the company of the two kids, and Italy moved along at a slower pace, mindful of keeping Maria secure in his embrace and thinking about his brother's attitude.

They had fought again early in the morning, before Italy left to buy some bread for lunch, and Romano had been set on ignoring both of the two kids, refusing to keep an eye on sleeping Maria whilst Italy was out.

Italy had expressed his desire to give Enrico and Maria some more concrete help than just sending them to some _collegio_ (no matter how good those priests were at raising up kids), South Italy had reacted a bit more violently, accusing Italy of trying to be everybody's saviour, of not caring of his own welfare and of being unable to see things in the right perspective.

Then, he'd said other things –things that had hit even deeper. About trying to replace the void he had with someone else. Someone different.

Hurt by Romano's accuses, Italy had reacted just as violently –something that had shocked both him and his brother. He knew that Romano had his reasons not to help him out, but his words had hurt, and his open indifference hurt even more.

Was it just anger speaking? Italy wasn't even sure if Romano meant what he said or if he was just bitter. If he couldn't even understand his own brother, then…

Did they get united for _this_? Was this how it would be from there on, with them unable to understand each other?

'_Why can't he understand? It's not a matter of helping. But they are ours. What is left of a Nation if we stop helping our own people, no matter how bad our own situation is?'_

Still, maybe listening to the priest's sermon during mass would help South Italy calm down, and maybe afterwards they would be able to sort things out.

With that hope in mind, Italy prepared his speech with the priest whilst walking.

At first, Enrico bounced at Italy's side, smiling and twirling and looking everywhere, quite in the good mood, but as they travelled through the streets of the town, more and more people peered out of their houses and shops to stare in surprise at Feliciano Vargas walking side by side with the little orphan of Luciano Foretti, their expressions moving from surprise to disbelief.

Enrico quickly calmed down, ashamed and angry, eyes turning down on the street at his feet, shoulders hunched and a pout on his lips.

He was young, but he was not stupid –he could hear what everybody whispered of his father, and how they kept accusing his mom, and he hated that!

His dad wasn't dead, and his mom was just sad! She wasn't the devil, she wasn't evil, she was simply hurt, like Feliciano said! And he would be strong for her, too!

He was hurt, too. He didn't like to be alone with his sister, and he wanted his mom and his dad back, and he didn't like their eyes, filled with hatred, judging him, accusing him, thinking he was below them…

Eyes filling with tears, Enrico took a step to the side, ready to run away and hide, when a big hand slipped around his own; the contact brought a wave of warmth into his chest that he could not understand nor describe, and when he shyly looked up, he realised _signor_ Feliciano was staring down at him, lips set into a comforting smile.

Strangely reassured, he wiped his tears away with his free arm and nodded, straightening his back.

Italy never did look at any of the townspeople as he walked to the church, yet there was something in his stance that made the onlookers shift uneasily and retire.

…–…–…–…

Once again, Romano was feeling murderous.

"_Buongiorno_, Lovino," an elderly woman nodded in his direction from her seat, smiling a bit and trying to ignore Enrico, who was sitting at his side with little Maria in his lap.

Italy hadn't been thrilled to let the older boy hold his sister, because he was still young himself, and he didn't trust the kid to be able to keep still long enough for him to go talk with the priest and come back to them, but he hoped that Romano would for once stop his madness and offer a hand if anything happened.

After all, this was his older brother, and he wasn't mean spirited, just a bit stubborn.

So, dropping Enrico next to Romano, Italy had moved towards the entrance of the church, waving at the old priest and attracting his attention; South Italy had no idea what the two were saying, and he would not admit (not even to himself) that he was curious.

This wasn't something that should interest him.

Yet, he couldn't keep his eyes away from his younger brother, feeling enraged with him, but also with himself. He hadn't meant to accuse Italy or insinuate that his care for the kid had anything to do with… _that_ boy.

He felt guilty because his anger had clouded his rationality. He hoped Italy knew he didn't mean that.

Enrico shuffled a bit under the glare of a man two rows from him, holding Maria up like a small, pathetic shield, wishing _signor_ Feliciano would get back soon. He felt alone and scared, and this guy called Lovino wasn't helping at all.

He didn't feel welcome at all by him.

"_Buongiorno, signora_ Teresa," Romano murmured, nodding back in the woman's direction. It would be impolite to not answer, no matter how grouchy he was feeling.

Stupid Italy. Stupid Italy. Stupid Italy. That was all his fault.

"Look –they're sitting close to that kid".

"That kid should know better than to come here. With his mother acting the way she does, he should think twice before trying to deceive those poor brothers".

Romano's left eyebrow twitched, enraged that people would talk loudly about things they couldn't understand, and tried to look like he wasn't listening, feeling even more furious at his brother.

He knew that the kid had done nothing to 'deceive' his brother. It was just Italy's big heart that put him in these situations. But to speak such mean words…

"I don't know what they're doing. Everybody knows what happened to their mother… the older of the two kids is a lost cause already, what do they think they're doing, bringing him to church? He might even steal the money in the offering plate".

Romano froze, eyes opening all of sudden, eyes glancing down at the kid.

Enrico was keeping his eyes on his little sister, who was squirming around and close to tears, but his little hands were clenching tightly around the girl's clothes.

Romano scoffed; he didn't care. It was Italy's problem, and he'd have to do it all on his own, since he'd brought that on his own shoulders. Romano would ignore them both, since they would not stay with them much longer, either.

This was the last time he was going to look at that kid's face, and he was glad about it.

Human kids… Italy was really crazy.

"Ah… _signor_ Lovino, can I speak with you for a moment, if you please?"

Romano looked up and stared straight at the city's mayor. He groaned inwardly –he'd never quite liked the man, a chubby, short guy that got to his nerves, but of course he had to keep up a good front.

"_Buongiorno, Sindaco_ Mulini," he stated, looking right into the human's eyes.

"_Signor_ Lovino, I'm talking with you not as the mayor, but, if I can, as a counsellor. I trust you will understand I am wishing the best to you and your brother".

Romano nodded, frowning.

"What is the problem then?"

"Well, I am worried about your brother," the man sighed, and his eyes moved towards little Enrico, who didn't notice, too busy holding onto his sister and ignoring the whispers of a few other people. "I'll be very honest with you, helping that family out will bring him nothing but problems".

A part of South Italy's brain was nodding and agreeing with the man –for different reasons, of course, but he was right.

They were Nations, they couldn't take care of any person walking in front of them.

Not even if it was kids.

"How is that?" not surprising, Romano's voice was as cold as ice.

Apparently unperturbed, the human continued talking, voice low and respectful in the church. "We all have seen what his mother has been doing after poor Luciano… so, I understand you want to show some charity to the kids, but he doesn't deserve it, he's the son of his mother, after all… and–"

Mayor Mulini awkwardly fell into silence when Italy flopped down on his chair and grabbed Maria from Enrico's arms, holding her up and nuzzling at her chest, making her giggle happily; Romano stiffened and looked away, showing just how the whole situation had him indifferent, and Enrico curled against Italy's side, feeling ashamed and angry.

Italy didn't speak, but his actions were enough of an answer for the humans around.

The priest slowly walked down towards the altar, making all the whispers hush, and when he passed next to Italy's seat, he nodded at him, who nodded back.

Enrico peered up from Italy's side, and caught the priest smiling warmly at him before the old man continued his way down for his mass.

Moments later, everybody stood up for the starting chorus.

…–…–…–…

Holding his hand out for Enrico to take, Italy carefully balanced a sleeping Maria in his arms and glanced at his brother, who was moving away from the church as quickly as possible, determined to go home.

He didn't know what to do now –talking with the priest had been useless; the man, although appreciating Italy's good will and his intentions to help the kids, had explained that his _collegio_ was at its fullest capability, with over thirty boys already living there, and had suggested to try with the orphanage in Milano (exactly what Romano had said to him the previous day).

Italy was definitely not happy with that –it meant moving the two kids away from their house and from everything they knew in order to send them to unknown destination– but there was nothing he could do.

He'd have to leave for Milano with both of the kids, and that wouldn't be an easy trip, either. A part of him had hoped he would be able to leave them with Romano, but…

"Are we going home now? Is _mamma_ back already?"

Enrico's uncertain voice made Italy blink and turn his attention to him.

"Yes, I'm bringing you there, but…" hesitating at the sight of Enrico's big eyes looking up at him, Italy felt his heart clench a bit.

How could he tell this little kid that not only his father would never come back, but his mother, too, was gone?

That she had abandoned him and Maria just like that, planning ahead and not looking back?

Would Enrico understand?

"Come on, _signor_ Feliciano~ _la mia mamma_ is probably worried now!"

Italy sighed and massaged his shoulder as he held Maria against his chest. The little baby curled her small, chubby fingers around his shirt, and didn't seem to want to let go. He wasn't sure he wanted to let her go, either.

He hesitated, and it was only when Enrico pushed the door of his house that Italy realised he would have to speak –and now.

"Listen, Enri–"

"Mom! Mom! I'm home! Mom!"

Nobody answered. The kid looked around with a small frown, then moved to the bedroom and the bathroom.

Still, he could see no one, and his mom wasn't resting or anything.

"Strange… mom should be home now. She always prepares lunch at this time…" hesitation and fear taking place of his happiness, Enrico returned to Italy's side, tugging at his shirt. "_Signor_ Feliciano, where is my mom!"

"I… I don't know," Italy flopped down on the closest chair, still holding Maria to his chest. He really didn't know. "But… her clothes… and her things…"

Enrico stopped his tugging and looked around. He wasn't quite sure what Feliciano was hinting at, but the fear suddenly doubled.

Stumbling away from the older Italian man, the boy ran back to his mother's bedroom, checking under the bed for his mom's shoes. He couldn't find them, so he opened the cupboard, and was shocked to see there were no clothes inside –not even his other shirt and pants!

"M–mom?"

He ran to the kitchen and got on his tiptoes, opening the cupboard.

There were no dishes, only a chipped one.

He ran to the food cupboard and looked inside, and to his shock, he could only find an old piece of stale bread.

"W–where is everything? Where is mom?"

Hearing Enrico's cry, Maria struggled into Italy's arms, her eyes filling with tears.

"Enrico…"

"S–she's gone! Where is mom! Where is my mom! Why isn't she here? She left Maria at home! She left me without telling! _Signor_ Feliciano, where is my mom!"

Running towards him again, Enrico started punching Italy's side and leg, tears rolling down his cheeks. He was angry, he was sad, and most of all, he was scared. His mom was gone with everything in the house. "I want my mommy! Where is mom?"

"I really don't know" sliding down from the chair, Italy fell on his knees and hugged the kid close, as tightly as possible. He could feel his pain clearly, and it was as strong and sharp as a knife. "But…"

"She comes back, right? For m–me and Maria. Mom isn't mean. S–she is going to c–come back and…" his words dissolved into sobs as he clutched hard at Italy's chest, crying together with Maria. "Mooom! _I want my mom!_"

"I don't know where your mom is, Enrico…" gently patting his head, Italy tried to secure his hold on both kids. Maria was the one more openly bawling even though she couldn't understand what was going on, and he tried to bounce her up and down a bit to help her calm down, stroking Enrico's head. "There is nothing here and–"

"She's n–not coming back!"

A part of Italy died that moment, looking into the kid's eyes, feeling his terror and pain on his own skin.

Holding him even closer, he felt tears roll down his cheeks as well.

It wasn't fair –this boy's mom was gone and he couldn't help him, and Romano…

"Dad! Dad has to come back! If dad comes back, mom comes back too! Dad! Dad!"

Struggling out of Italy's hold, Enrico ran to the door, quickly followed by the Nation, who vainly tried to make him stop.

"He won't come back, Enrico, he's–"

"He's not dead! He's alive! And mom can't be gone! She _can't_! You lie! Everybody lies! You are just like all of them!"

"Enrico! It's not true! I'm here to help you, I–"

"_Ti odio, signor_ Feliciano!"

Italy recoiled in shock, and Enrico pulled his wrist out of his grip, running out of the door and down the stairs, disappearing from sight, ignoring Italy's cries to come back.

He was alone now.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** that's it for now. Please do tell me what you think so far? Thank you!

_colazione_ – breakfast

_buongiorno_ – good morning

_collegio_ – it was a sort of catholic institution usually managed by priests (the female version has nuns) which offers young boys up to a certain age a bed, food and an education, also teaching them a job so they could earn money for themselves. A very well known one is the _Collegio Salesiano Don Bosco_, that still exists today in the form of private school and oratory and the like.

_sindaco_ – mayor

_signor/signora_ – mister/miss

_mamma_ – mom

_Ti odio_ – I hate you


	4. Thunders

**SOY:** so there you have it, another chapter out. I've been a bit lost with RL and writing depression, so I forgot to share this. Please drop me a comment if you like this fic, it means a lot to me!

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Rating**: K+

**Warnings:** historical setting, humans, mentions of past war, angst.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia. But I love working through fanfics of it.

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**Heart**

**Chapter 04: Thunders**

"_Ti odio, signor_ Feliciano!"

With these words ringing in his mind, repeated over and over, sounding more painful every single time, Italy recoiled from Enrico, the grip on his arm loosening enough that the little kid managed to slip away.

Moments later he was already gone down the stairs, disappearing so fast that Italy had no way to follow him.

Fingers trembling in shock, Italy grabbed the edges of the door to keep himself standing, still recovering from Enrico's anguished words.

Hate.

He hated him?

It hurt –it hurt so much that it took Italy a long time to realise that the words meant nothing; Enrico had yelled them in a moment of weakness, seeing Italy as his enemy, abandoned by his mom, left completely alone to fend for himself… scared and…

Hands trembling, Italy realised that the last thing he needed was to stand there while the kid ran who knew where. He had to find Enrico, and he had to move quickly, too!

"Enrico!"

Panic taking a hold of him, Italy slammed the door close and ran down the stairs and into the street, feeling his heart race in his chest.

He'd allowed the kid to run away on his own –where could he be now? Was there a place where he could be going to? Somewhere… somewhere safe, maybe? But _where_?

Shaking his head, unable to think properly, his worry and pain controlling his movements, Italy tried to concentrate.

Enrico was obviously in pain, and shocked, and in denial –he still hoped that both of his parents would come back, and who could blame him for wanting that? He was so little, and had suffered already so much in his life…

With such feelings, where could he go?

Looking around dazedly, Italy felt despair slowly fill him. He had _no_ idea. He'd tried to help him, and he'd done the worst –and now, Enrico wouldn't trust him anymore, because Italy had known his mother was gone and had decided not to tell him.

And now… what to do?

Maria let out a soft, happy giggle, and Italy turned his vacant eyes towards the baby, focusing on her only when a small droplet of rain hit his nose, startling him.

Rain. It was starting to rain.

As he'd been accompanying Enrico at his house the sky had grown progressively darker, and now heavy, cold rain was finally falling on them.

Looking up with a gasp, Italy finally noticed how bad the weather was –it was going to storm, and he had allowed Enrico to run away somewhere, with only his tattered, ruined clothes to protect him.

More so, he was still standing under the rain with little Maria in his arms.

Quickly running to press his back against the house's wall, Italy frantically searched around. Of course, there was nobody in sight.

Maria's smile was starting to falter now that the novelty of the rain had ceased, and she was close to crying, scared by the sudden wetness and by the soft rumblings of the thunders. She clearly didn't like it, and made it known by starting to wail.

Her voice brought Italy out of his thoughts again.

With a yelp, Italy held her body even close and started to bounce her in his arms, in a vain attempt to calm her down; it didn't quite work, because it was raining harder now and he needed to move, and quickly. He had to find Enrico, but he couldn't run around the town with the little girl!

He had to go back to his house, but this would make him lose precious minutes, and he didn't even know where to start searching!

Arms trembling, Italy took a deep breath. He wanted to cry and he felt utterly helpless, but he couldn't allow himself that privilege. He had to make a choice now, and his priority was to bring Maria home.

"Shhhh… please, don't cry Maria, it'll be ok… we'll be home soon…" gently whispering close to Maria's ear, hoping it'd help, he quickly moved back up to the house, and re–entered it.

Without Enrico running around, without his loud voice, the house felt even emptier, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he made his way to the bedroom again.

Looking around, he ended up grabbing the sheets of the bed and wrapping them around Maria's body, paying attention to let her face uncovered so she could breathe.

It was strange the woman had emptied everything she could sell, but had left the bed sheets in the house, knowing how much those were worth. Italy wondered if she'd given up on bringing them because they were too heavy or if she'd just not been thinking clearly.

Maria slowly stopped crying, probably finding the remains of her mother's scent in the sheets comforting, and snuggled into them, eyeing Italy from inside the nest with perplexity.

"Ve…" Italy felt his shoulders relax slightly. At least she was calmer now.

Taking another deep breath, Italy exited the house for the last time; holding the baby against his chest again, placed so her face wouldn't be looking up to the rain, he started to run towards home, knowing his brother would be there already.

He had no other alternative –he needed his help.

…–…–…–…

With a grunt, Romano closed the windows of the kitchen and looked up through the stained glass, glaring at the sky and hoping the rain would stop soon.

He didn't dislike rain, of course, and he knew that most men looked up at it as a blessing, given the last few weeks of dry, hot weather that had been taking its toll on the growing plants and vegetables, but his mood was already borderline disastrous, and he didn't need stupid memories to cloud on his afternoon even more.

Rain always made him remember the last few months of their independence wars –walking through mud and countryside, trying to cheer up their troops, hoping against hope that things would go well, that the men wouldn't die before their eyes, that the damn war would end soon…

He didn't want to remember, yet it was almost like a ghostly reminder, the feeling of cold metal against his arm as he pointed his rifle, avoiding to look at his brother's face, not wanting to stare into his brown eyes filled with pain and despair.

Shaking his head, Romano turned his back to the window and glanced around at the kitchen. If he hurried up, he would surely manage to prepare some coffee for when his brother would get home.

Thankfully he would come back alone –the kids were probably with the priest and the nuns by then, and Romano felt his shoulders relax slightly.

He knew that Italy was making of this whole situation a bigger problem than it was, but they couldn't just take in every single little kid they saw around. Helping them was one thing, but keeping them around? Was Italy this crazy?

They were _Nations_.

Even if they took in the kids, they would have to deal with their identities as Nations first and foremost, and then, the kids would grow up, while he and Veneziano would not…

Besides, the priest would put a stop to all the babbling in the town, and he would show people that the little kid and his sister were not monsters. These thoughts made south Italy feel nauseous, despite his attempts to ignore them.

Unity should have changed something, damn it! Yet, certain people couldn't change, in the end. He wondered how long it would be before people started noticing they didn't grow old. He wondered how long it would take before they had to move.

Cringing at yet another depressing thought, Romano forced himself to concentrate on his coffee. The powder wasn't completely used yet, it'd be good for yet another two cups, and then he would be able to throw it away.

Putting the pot on the stove and checking the fire underneath, Romano grunted out another curse as a thunder echoed outside.

Moments later, as the pot started to make its characteristic gurgling sound, the front door slammed open.

South Italy turned around and walked out of the kitchen, determined in greeting his brother with a satisfied nod, but stopped dead once he got to the corridor.

Italy was standing on the door, wet and trembling, and he was holding a bundle of sheets in his arms, from which a chubby, short hand was popping out, clutched at his shirt.

With a gasp, Romano realised that it was the little girl.

Eyes narrowing in anger, he stepped forwards, growling, "Felic–"

Veneziano's wide, panicked eyes met his own, and Romano felt his anger die in his throat.

Suddenly, he remembered just how much Italy hated thunders, and how he always tried to hide away whenever a storm hit.

"L–Lovi…" Italy swallowed twice, his grip on the little Maria tightening a bit, "E–Enrico ran away, under this rain… when I told him his mom wasn't going to come back, he just… and… and I need to go find him before he gets sick, because–"

"Feliciano!" his anger resurfacing at the mention of the kid, Romano shook his head. "Don't be absurd, you idiot! Who cares! Let him stay in the rain, for all I ca–"

A sharp pain coming from his chin made Romano fall into silence, completely shocked; it took him a few seconds to realise that his brother had just slapped him. Eyes turning darker in sheer fury, South Italy stepped forwards, hands balled into fists, but once again he stopped dead when he properly looked at the younger Nation.

Italy was just as angered as he was, and the sight was… it was so unfit on his usual carefree, relaxed brother that Romano felt a shiver run down his back; he was trembling, both in anger and fear of the thunders still echoing behind him from the open door, but his lips were set in a disappointed scowl.

"He's just a kid," he hissed. The tone, compared to before, was low and steady. "And he's afraid and hurting right now, and he's somewhere, and I don't… I don't know where, under all this rain, and… and… and you… why are _you_ talking like _them_?"

Romano shook his head, the words stinging like an insult.

Yes, he didn't want the kid in his house, but it wasn't because he thought he'd cause problems… he didn't want him because it was hard already as it was, with the two of them, and their bad economy and…

"I didn't…"

"You said I should leave him out there. He's a kid!" much to Romano's shock, there were tears pooling into his brother's eyes. "Is this the way you plan to deal with everything from now on? How can you be this… this… how can you be like them!"

Backing away from his brother, Romano clutched at the closest surface with one hand, looking down at the floor in shame.

For a moment, he found himself reminiscing –a quick yet vivid image of himself many years before, hiding in his room, watching from the door as Spain's battered form stumbled down the corridor, falling onto his own bed with a groan after once another fight with Turkey.

He hadn't asked Spain to keep it up so much. When he'd called him for help, he hadn't expected the older Nation to come running. Yet he'd done so.

He hadn't asked Spain to keep fighting against Turkey, he hadn't asked Spain to be hurt every single day so to keep him from becoming another colony of the Ottoman Empire.

Spain had done everything on his own, and it had made Romano happy. Happy, because someone was taking care of him, even though he kept complaining. He'd been a kid and he hadn't wanted to be in the middle of all that stupid stuff anyway.

It hadn't even been his fault. He'd just been… there.

If Spain hadn't cared, if Spain hadn't protected him, running to get him every time…

"You idiot," he grumbled. "Why are you…" taking a deep breath to stop his trembling hands, he looked up at his little brother with a grunt. "You're a fucking Nation, Feliciano! _Feel_ that damn kid!"

Italy blinked, all his anger vanishing in the span of a moment. A sheepish, more familiar expression took its place. "Uh… I…"

Romano shook his head. "Ooh, _per l'amor di Dio_, Feli, give me that…" stepping forwards again, he grabbed the bundle of sheets and baby from the other Nation's arms and cradled it into his own. "Go, you idiot. Just… come back safely, ok?"

Italy's lips trembled upwards, the first honest, true smile Romano had seen on his lips in a long while, and quickly leaned forwards, pressing a soft, wet kiss on his older brother's cheek.

Then he was gone, and Romano was left alone with Maria carefully peering at him from inside the blanket's nest.

With a look of distaste, South Italy stared down at her, feeling the wet edges of the blanket against his shirt, and sighed, cheeks red.

"Uh… let's get out from this dam… from this blanket, ok?"

Maria blinked up at him, wide eyed and with puffy cheeks.

Romano refused to admit that he found the sight cute, and quickly moved upstairs.

…–…–…–…

Much to Italy's surprise, little Enrico's hiding place turned out to be an old abandoned hut (because it was so ruined the word 'house' wasn't appropriate anymore) close to the main road; he didn't know why, but the sight of it made him feel sad.

Italy could feel the kid's presence radiating from inside the building, veiled by rain and walls, but strong and present, and his extended sensitivity reassured him that nobody was around.

The thunders were still echoing around him, so he hurried towards the broken door, pushing it aside and cringing at the smell of wet, rotten wood, and entered the room.

It was bare –not even a chair remained to testify someone had lived in there, and for a moment Italy remained unmoving, not exactly sure where Enrico was… then he realised he was hiding inside the fireplace, clothes smudged with ash, dirty and mud.

"…" he was about to call him, but decided otherwise, and simply made his way through the room, crouching in front of the fireplace and looking to the side.

"G'way".

The mutter was so soft Italy almost didn't hear it.

"Enrico…"

"G'way, _signor_ Feliciano," Enrico's tone was sad and defensive, and blinking in the dark, as the room had no light other than the broken window at his right, Italy realised he'd been crying.

"Come back with me, Enrico," Italy sat down, wondering for a moment if he could fit inside the fireplace as well. It looked narrow and small and smelly, but if the kid didn't want to come out…

"No!" shaking his head, Enrico curled more on himself, looking smaller and even more scared. "You lied to me!"

A thunder echoed around them, and Italy flinched, shivering in fear. It was even worse here. He wanted to go home to Romano. But he had to bring Enrico with him first.

"Why are you trembling, _signor_ Feliciano?"

Italy swallowed hard, cheeks flushed red. "Ve~ I don't… I really don't like thunders".

Enrico's lips twitched. "I'm not afraid of thunders," he countered. "I was once, but then dad told me that thunders can't hurt me, that it's just sound and even though it's scary, it's just noise!"

He sounded so mature, his little voice dotting, and Italy smiled bitterly, relaxing against the wall at the fireplace's side.

"I lost my grandpa on a rainy day," he finally replied. He could feel Enrico stiffen in the dark. Another thunder resounded outside, loud and close. "He used to say that thunders were a warning from the sky, that thunders meant the gods didn't like your actions… that you would be punished".

Italy bit down on his lip. He'd spent most of his childhood afraid of thunders, after his grandfather had died, because he'd been terribly afraid that every time a storm hit, it'd mean he'd done something to make the gods angry.

Even if centuries had passed since then, even if his people had turned to new religions and beliefs, even if he himself had finally grown up, a part of him had never been able to forget.

"When he died, he said it was his price, because he'd wanted too much, and I was left alone," he finished, his voice so low he could barely hear himself.

"I don't think I understand it much," Enrico admitted in a serious voice, and Italy inwardly smiled. "Does it mean the thunders came because I was bad? Did mom go away because I am a bad boy?"

"Ve~! No! You've been a good, brave kid!" rushing through all the things he wanted to say to reassure him, Italy ended up unable to say anything else.

"If I am good, then mom can come back, right?" a small sniffle, the sound of Enrico's body shifting, then his small hand pressed against Italy's arm, holding onto his sleeve. "But mom says that moms and dads know what is good… so is she leaving good?"

"Sometimes… adults are wrong, too," with a grimace, Italy gently placed his hand over the much smaller one of Enrico. "Only because you grow up does not mean you do the right things all the time, and she didn't do the right thing," he faltered when another thunder made him jump, "but that's how it is. Your mom is… gone, and she _won't_ come back".

Enrico was silent for a long while; squinting in the dark, Italy thought he would start crying, just like he'd done before, but much to his surprise, the kid took some deep, shuddering breaths and rubbed at his mostly dry eyes.

"Why?" he was clearly fighting against crying. "Why did she go?"

It hurt, to listen the kid use such a broken, defeated tone, and it hurt more because he could feel his sadness expand and reach Italy's body as well.

"She probably didn't want to believe that your dad was gone, too" looking to the side, Italy concentrated his attention on the opposite wall, feeling weary and sad. "Your father fought and lost his life, and she loved him so much".

"B–but _mamma_ loves me and Maria, too! We are here!"

"The truth is, I don't know either. I wish I knew, but I don't. I just don't want you to be alone".

"I–it's not fair! We are here, and dad is not, why did she go, too? Wasn't I enough? Wasn't Maria enough to keep her here?" sniffling a bit, but still refusing to cry, Enrico huddled more inside the fireplace.

They fell into a strange silence, empty yet not completely uncomfortable, with Italy trembling whenever a thunder echoed outside of the broken down house.

"Why are you so nice with us, _signor_ Feliciano?"

"_Signore_ makes me feel too old, Enrico. Please don't say it, ok?" with soft sigh, Italy pressed his forehead on his arm, making his voice come out muffled. "I just do it. I look at you and I see a young kid that needs help, that's all".

"But I'm a big boy now. I need to protect Maria!"

"Yes, but I can still want to help you two. It's… it's how I am, you know? Ve~ and I know you are strong and even if it's difficult… you will be able to smile again".

Another long, empty pause. When Enrico finally broke it again, his voice was even more hesitant.

"What will happen to us, _signo_… Feliciano?"

Italy closed his eyes. All single fibre of his body wanted to cradle Enrico's frame into his arms, hold him close and tell him that things would be ok, that he would take care of him, that he would give him a house, and a splendid place to live into, and they would be happy together…

But maybe Romano was right. Maybe he wasn't fit to do this.

He didn't have all the answers, he didn't know what to do, what words to say. Even now, he'd only managed to hurt Enrico, instead of helping him.

He'd allowed him to run in the rain and risk getting sick, and he had almost allowed little Maria to get drenched only because he'd panicked. This surely wasn't how it should be. He had failed on that account.

"I'll bring you to Milano tomorrow," he murmured, defeated. "The Priest said he didn't have a place for you and Maria in his _collegio_, but maybe Milano's priest will accept you two. They will give you a place to stay, and an instruction and will help you learn how to work. You'll be… you'll be fine".

Enrico hesitated again. He didn't want to leave his house, he didn't want to leave the only place he'd ever seen, but… but at the same time, he knew he had to do what he was told; he was so very afraid, and he felt lonely and he missed his mom, and his dad, and it just wasn't fair, and–

A pair of arms wrapped tightly around him, lifting him away from the fireplace and onto Mr. Feliciano's lap. The contact was welcome even if it made Enrico wince, the coldness of his clothes only growing worse against the older man's own wet ones.

Snuggling more into the embrace nonetheless, Enrico closed his eyes and let himself be held, hiding his face in the crook of the man's neck, feeling strangely safe there.

Once again, they remained in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence, until the little boy lifted his face a bit.

"Will you stay with me until they tell me where to go, in Milano?"

Italy's grip around his shoulders tightened.

"I will".

"… _grazie_, _signor_ Feliciano…"

…–…–…–…–…–…–…

**SOY:** I'm sorry I've been taking so much time with this, but I promise updates will be faster, and I hope you won't find it too slow, but I'm trying to make it believable. If you have any questions, please ask away.

_signor_ – mister

_mamma_ – mom

_grazie_ – thank you

_per l'amor di Dio_ – for God's sake

_Ti odio_ – I hate you.


End file.
